


seventeen and a thousand years

by philthestone



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, friendship heck yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, Luke," he whispers, and Luke turns to face him in the damp grass and he thinks that this is <em>precisely</em> the right time for some serious levity.<br/>"What?"<br/>"You totally made out with your sister that one time."<br/>(Luke hits him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	seventeen and a thousand years

**Author's Note:**

> Luke and Han being bros at the end of ROTJ because this is needed.  
> Yes.  
> Reviews are cookies!

He finds him lying on the thick grass maybe half a mile outside the village, staring up at the stars. 

“Shouldn’t you be back there, celebrating and stuff?”

A shrug. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Leia fell asleep.”

“I know.”

He lies down beside the younger man, crossing his arms behind his head, and decides that he’s definitely _slightly_ drunk, so he can broach the subject without fear.

“So. Twins, huh?”

Luke doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: 

“Leia told you.”

“Sure.” He swallows. “I mean, it does explain a helluva lot.”

“Yeah.”

He stretches his arms above his head and grimaces, making a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. “Man, I’m such an asshole.”

Luke turns to face him, face half-hidden by the long grass. “What d’you mean?” 

“I can’t believe I was actually jealous.”

The grin that spreads across his friends face is lopsided and boyish and makes him look as young as he was four years before (when he tackled Han with a hug and told him that he’d _known_ he would come back, that he wasn’t a selfish bastard who didn’t care about anything other than himself).

“I can’t believe _I_ was actually jealous.”

He snorts _(“You were hardly jealous, kid, you gave up after the first couple times.” “That’s because I’m a nice person.” “Alright, alright, no need to rub it in.”)_ , and Luke joins him for half a moment before sobering again and turning back towards the sky. 

When he speaks again, it is hesitant ... almost fearful. Han spends a millisecond wondering why before all the words come out and he knows.

“How – how much did Leia tell you?”

He contemplates not saying anything, because he’s never been any good at feelings and emotions and family crap – except, you know, that would be a lie, because isn’t he here, right now, wondering how in stars name he ever could have _not_ wanted – this?

“You’re a better man that I could ever be,” he says instead, staring determinedly at the bright star directly above him.

Luke’s laugh is mirthless. “You know that’s not the point.”

“The point is I don’t give a damn.” 

And he doesn’t. He gives a damn that his ship is only half-broken and the woman he loves loves him back and his little brother is safe and alive and only slightly scarred and that his best friend isn’t hurt or killed and that they _won._

Everything else is inconsequential, at this point.

Luke is silent, and Han thinks that he might’ve said the wrong thing, because he’s done that before, said the wrong thing – but then, he hears him sigh, and shift beside him, and the young man’s voice sounds out sleepily in the night air. 

“Hey, Han?”

“Yeah, kid.”

“Remind me to give you a speech sometime later about not hurting my little sister and all the ways I can kill you with my mind now.”

Han turns to stare at him and he stares back, and there is a pause of maybe three seconds before they’re both laughing so hard that they’re having trouble breathing. He feels the tears running down his cheeks and doesn’t even bother pretending that they’re only from the laughter, and he feels Luke reach over and grab his arm and realizes, as (his brother’s) the younger man’s fingers tighten around his bicep in a desperate attempt at grounding – himself or both of them, Han doesn’t know – that even after all the craziness and holy-shit-we’re-running-for-our-lives moments and nearly dying and psycho parents and giant slugs and broken-down hyperdrives and Damn Fool Idealistic Crusades –

He’s pretty happy about life.


End file.
